Mirrors and Glass Coffins
by heartsways
Summary: A one-shot featuring snapshots of Regina and Snow's relationship throughout the years.


**Title:** Mirrors and Glass Coffins  
**Author: **heartsways  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Fandom: **Once Upon A Time  
**Pairing:** Regina, Snow White  
**Disclaimer:** All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.  
**Summary: **Based on a prompt from evilregal108, a one-shot about Snow and Regina.

**Author's Note:** You can find me on twitter: heartsways or on tumblr

Snow White was, everyone agreed, a good child. The sort of child that anyone would want. The sort of child who received indulgence where other children were barely tolerated. Her manners were impeccable; her curiosity about life unstoppable. What little she'd gleaned from her governess had lulled her into a sense of security, creating a world in which Snow's father was the fount of all kindness and everyone in his realm lived in peace and harmony.

Innocence, it seemed, made a bedfellow of ignorance. Little Snow had no knowledge of the poverty on the king's land, nor did she ever need to, according to Leopold's instruction. His child had already lost her mother; he saw no need for her childhood to be taken from her with the appearance of grim realities on the horizon.

Regina had found Snow's naiveté endearing when first they'd met.

Now it disgusted her.

On the announcement of their betrothal, Regina had been showered with words like expensive wedding gifts: ornate, but essentially useless. People told her she was 'lucky'; that this was a 'wonderful opportunity'; that being queen and Leopold's wife was 'a great honor'. She had smiled and nodded graciously, just as her mother had taught her. But not one person mentioned love in their platitudes – Cora most certainly didn't.

Not that it mattered. Regina had felt love torn from her chest that night in the stables, as visceral and bloody as though her mother had removed not one heart, but two.

The day that Regina was ushered into the cavernous space that was to be her bedchamber, she reached out, laying her hand on the stone wall. There was a fire blazing in the grate, but the walls were cold, hard, unforgiving. Just as she was. As she _had_ to be if she were to survive a lifetime's imprisonment in this luxurious dungeon. Leopold had already bestowed gifts upon her: jewels, clothes fit for a queen, a prized steed from foreign lands.

He hadn't offered her love and Regina didn't ask. It was bad enough that his hand lingered just a little too long in the small of her back, that his eyes raked up and down her body and he didn't even try to hide his lustful gaze. With every day that passed, drawing the wedding far too close for her comfort, Regina was sickened by the realization that it would be Leopold, not Daniel, who would take her womanhood.

And with each day, Snow White would revel in the presence of her new mother. She would simper and smile at Regina with an adoration that was cloying, unwanted and threatened to suffocate Regina, should she let it.

But when the girl slipped her hand into Regina's and gazed up at her with bright, expectant eyes, Regina would incline her head and squeeze Snow's fingers and smile at the girl. Just like mother had taught her.

XXX

Regina stared into the fountain, reaching out her hand and letting a few stray drops of water splash over her palm. She had risen early, tending to her sapling in the hazy morning sunlight. Her fingers had moved over the apple tree with tenderness and care, nurturing life back into the tree that had been brought here from her home. The only thing she was allowed to keep of her old life.

Brushing her fingertips along one of the branches, Regina noticed that they were trembling. Leopold had come to her room last night, taking pleasure in his marital rights as her husband and king. His body against her own had been repugnant; he had moved over her, breath heavy and sticky on her neck, hands grasping at the silk nightgown he had given her, not caring if he ripped it in his eagerness to sate himself in the curves and dips of her body. Regina had struggled a little at first, mostly out of fear more than anything else. She had turned her head as his fingers clutched at her neck, staring sightlessly across the room. It would be over soon, her mother had told her. It was a necessary evil of married life, Cora had explained; it was the price of being queen.

But as droplets from the fountain's spray fell like wasted tears over her skin, Regina knew that nobody would ever touch her like Daniel did, nobody would ever replace his passionate kisses nor make her heart skip a beat like it did when he smiled at her. The hopes she'd placed in his strong hands had trickled away with every lost drop of his life's blood.

Yes; her apple tree had been the only thing she'd brought from her old life. A life that was now over.

"Regina!"

The queen scowled, the softness in her eyes disappearing to something hard and hateful. But as she turned from the fountain, she adopted the mask of grace she had almost perfected, directing a blindingly bright smile towards the child who skipped merrily towards her.

"Snow, dear," Regina said in a considered tone. "You're awake early today."

The little girl threw herself against Regina's skirts, arms winding around the queen's waist and squeezing tightly. A wave of nausea swelled in Regina's stomach and her mouth turned down as she gripped Snow's shoulders and pushed her away. The smile she gave to Snow's upturned, beaming face was a little stiff, a little forced. Regina noticed with derision how the child appeared blissfully unaware.

_Good_, Regina thought to herself as Snow held out her hand. Taking it, Regina allowed the girl to lead her over to one of the stone benches, offering views from the parapets of the castle that were unmatched in all the land.

"Father bought me a new horse," Snow said, excitement flushing red on her cheeks. "I wanted you to ride with me today. Say you will, Regina. Please?"

Looking at the hope on the upturned face directed towards her, Regina's chest clenched with the memory of what she'd lost. Of what this child had cost her.

"I'd love to, dear," she replied pleasantly, and Snow let out a thrilled squeal and threw herself forwards, sliding her arms around Regina's waist.

"You're the best mother I could ever wish for," Snow sighed, laying her head onto Regina's shoulder. "I'm so happy you're here."

In another time, Regina might have longed to hear those words from the child's mouth. In another time, she might have received them with the sort of affection only a mother could know.

But this time, in the here and now, they fell like stones onto Regina's heart, clattering across the dead surface and sliding away, unheeded, unwanted. Lifting a hand, Regina stroked her fingers through Snow's hair in a pretense of everything she'd once wanted to be.

Not any more, though. Because nothing mattered anymore without Daniel. And all the riches, affections and love in the world couldn't fill the empty spaces inside her. Only revenge, true and sure, might go some way to assuaging her grief.

So Regina petted the girl, lulling her into a false sense of security while she plotted and ached and died a little bit more.

XXX

Regina started collecting mirrors after Leopold's death. They were the one thing upon which she could rely; there was no obfuscation in the clear reflection of her own face gazing back at her. No doubt, either. But the problem with mirrors was that they showed flaws as well as perfections, and Regina saw hers glaring back at her with angry, resentful eyes and a thirst for vengeance that she feared would never be slaked.

Yet still she had mirrors brought to her; mirrors of all shapes and sizes that adorned the corridor to her chambers and spread across the wall inside. All these years and she still couldn't bear to be alone. Sometimes it amused her in a distant, vague way, and she would smile at herself, catching many reflections in many mirrors from the corner of her eye. Occasionally, she wondered what lay beyond the carefully polished, glass panes. What might happen if she were able to step through the looking glass? What other selves would she find there?

Her meanderings always brought her back to the one thing that held true: every reflection would surely be as wretched, lonely and empty as the figure staring into the mirror.

She heard Snow crying sometimes in the few nights after the funeral. It had been a grand affair, heads of state from across the land attending in their finest garb. Snow had tried to remain stoic throughout, but that night, Regina had heard the girl's grief echoing through the cold castle corridors, resounding from stone walls with no real place to find a home.

Regina thought she might take pleasure in it. That it might, somehow, bring some warmth to her heart that had been woefully missing for all these years. But it failed to move her; lacked resonance in her soul and she turned her back on it. The only pleasure she would ever find would be in witnessing Snow's demise. In engendering it, too.

The girl had come to her on the night of Leopold's funeral, crawling into her bed as she had done as a child. She had sought affection in Regina's arms, pressing herself against the queen and sobbing quietly against her shoulder.

"I miss him so much already," Snow whispered, her breath fetid and warm on Regina's face, her tears wet on the queen's neck.

Regina's arm was around Snow's shoulders, the act of a mother; the act of someone who cared.

"I know, dear," she said gently, and almost laughed aloud at the tone of her voice. How easy it was, after all this time, to become what she might have been, if only in artifice.

"You are all I have left of my family now," Snow said, fingers clenching at Regina's nightgown, clutching the ornate, silken material in her grasp. "You are the only parent I have."

Regina lifted a hand and stroked at Snow's hair, just like she'd done for over a decade. It was as natural an instinct as was the one she harbored beneath her skin; she nurtured the girl's affections in the same way she cared for her hatred. Both had grown to fruition underneath her practiced touch; both would be absolved in the same way.

"Please, Regina," Snow murmured, nestling against the queen, "don't leave me. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Oh, my dear," Regina breathed, resting her chin onto the top of Snow's head. "I won't leave you. Not ever."

She caught a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors hung near her bed, and wondered at the woman looking back. Regina barely recognized her. Where once there had been love, there was now only emptiness, and it stared at her through glass and metal, as cold as her heart.

Her revenge would soon be complete. As she felt the warmth of the girl against her, Regina knew that it wouldn't – couldn't – bring Daniel back. Nothing could. All she would have were the reflections of herself, caught between silver panes of glass.

It brought her no pleasure at all. And as she watched Snow fall into a fitful slumber beside her, Regina wondered if this world had entrapped her, just like the genie, in a brittle glass coffin that entombed her very soul.


End file.
